


Be Ye Men of Valour

by Admiral



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - World War II, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 04:11:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5651974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Admiral/pseuds/Admiral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the 2015 Secret Santa gift Exchange on Tumblr.</p><p>World War II AU, for any and all interested.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be Ye Men of Valour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Effwit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Effwit/gifts).



> Happy Holidays to Effwit on tumblr, who requested something historical, or military, or college, with PTSD, but with plenty of angst, so here you go, and I hope you like it :)
> 
> Title taken from Winston Churchill's speech.

  


As if the American military hadn’t already taken over their lives—eating on Ed’s standards was difficult with the rationing—now they had to interrupt his classes to talk about the war. As if anyone could _forget_ there was a war.

It was going to be in the auditorium, but that had never been designed for all the students on campus, and the gym was still undergoing some construction. The war had put that on hold, too. Ed could barely stand the irony.

The grounds of Stanford were beautiful, even if they hadn’t been tended as carefully as usual, but with the entire student population standing or sitting it looked a lot less like a field of grass, and a lot more like something terrifyingly close to things Ed didn’t want to name.

He turned around, not quite facing the military officers standing on a small platform, but looking just to the side. There were fewer students there, and he didn’t have to see the metal glint off of the brass buttons. The uniforms were black, not green or brown, but the effect was similar enough to have his throat drying up.

The breeze blew, and pushed Ed’s hair back, and it smelled nothing like it had in Germany, and nothing like it had next to the fenced in areas that he hadn’t understood when he was younger, and it smelled nothing like the small hospital in Switzerland that he couldn’t even remember because of the pain, but it smelled everything like fresh cut grass and a small apartment with his brother.

He finally forced himself to turn and look at the small podium. There were two men and a woman standing on it, speaking with the dean. A muscular blonde man was sitting in a wheelchair, uniform neat and pleated, and the medals on his chest marked him as a second lieutenant. The woman was standing, posture military perfect, hair pinned back, and her eyes scanned the crowd; a lieutenant, and Ed could tell at a glance that her purse was more organized than his life.

The third man was facing the dean, with messy black hair, a straight, proud slope to his shoulders, and the dean was clearly charmed by whatever the man was telling him. Ed hated him on sight.

He had seen news footage: he knew what charming people could do, and his own brutal honesty had served him well in the past. Anything else was just people trying to fake being better people.

His leg was starting to ache by the time the clock chimed, and he could see some of the people close to him unbuttoning the top of their collars as the sun climbed higher. Ed looked away quickly; even in America, certain suspicions were best avoided.

The charming man finally turned around to face the crowd, and Ed suddenly wished he had stayed looking at the unbuttoned collars. He was mixed, much like Ed himself, and his Japanese features had some people near him tensing and muttering slurs. His medals marked him as an active duty Colonel, but Ed refused to look at his chest more than absolutely necessary.

He started speaking, and Ed’s heart nearly stopped as the deep voice rolled across the grounds. His first couple sentences garnered a small laugh, but Ed hadn’t heard them. He glanced around, surreptitiously, and noticed that quite a few of the students were smiling slightly, looking interested. The others were clearly still mulling over their racist hatred of a man who clearly had nothing to do with the attacks on American soil all those years ago.

He looked back, right as the man's eyes scanned over his, black and serious, and Ed felt suddenly like ice water had dripped down his spine. This man was dangerous, but because of who he was, or how he made Ed’s mouth go dry, wasn’t quite clear yet.

His eyes slid away, but Ed stood frozen on the spot, trying desperately not to hear what the man was saying. Charisma was dangerous, and that distrust had kept him safe in the past. No matter how much he wanted to see if his mouth tasted as good as it sounded.

The talk was about how their scientific prowess was good for America, and how their studies had the potential to change the world, but Ed had heard the same thing in different language. None of it made a difference. No matter the science, it would be used for war or sex, and pretty words wouldn’t change that. No gorgeous colonel speaking to students would ever change the fact that humanity was terrible, and Ed’s faith had long since burned out that people would learn to work together.

Now thoroughly depressed, in pain, and irritated, he limped back to the lab. His irritation seemed to radiate so he didn’t even have to pretend not to hear people saying his name, and he immersed himself in his results, poring over the math again and again, attempting to interpret the data in a way that made sense. Math didn’t lie, not like people; math didn’t put people in camps and steal mothers, but math also didn’t warn people about military brass coming up behind them.

If the Colonel had been slightly less graceful, he would have gotten a swift kick from Ed’s steel-toed boots, but he was infuriatingly quick on his feet, and Ed glared to show his disapproval.

His professor, Dr. Curtis, smirked. “Yeah, you shouldn’t sneak up on Edward.”

“Duly noted.” the Colonel said dryly, smirking like a bastard. The woman stood behind him, but the one in the wheelchair was nowhere to be seen. Colonel Bastard offered his hand, “Edward Elric, I presume?”

“Yeah.” Ed said gruffly, crossing his arms pointedly, trying not to give in and collapse on himself entirely. “I’m Ed.”

The Colonel clasped his hands behind his back, smooth and unruffled, like he had never offered his hand at all. Ed felt his blood pressure soar as he bit back his temper; most normal, human responses turned into anger once they reached his brain, and his normal banked fury flared up at a drop of a hat, even more so when he was backed into a corner with some of his worst memories and trying to beat down a senseless attraction. Of course the man had to be smooth, articulate, charismatic, and in complete control of any given situation.

“My name is Colonel Roy Mustang. I understand you have some interesting work that you’ve submitted to Dr. Curtis?” He seemed genuinely interested, and Ed’s head nearly started pounding with his intense and opposite reactions. Fury, deep and lava hot in the pit of his stomach, that someone could be so put together while he felt like he was being pieced out of existence daily, and pure, slavering devotion to anyone who showed an interest in him or any part of his work. The wariness was still there, sitting at the back of his neck, pulling him back, and the fear sat in his chest, tight, making it harder to breathe, and his ever present anger burned through him, forcing him to take just one more step, but he looked into Roy bastard Mustang’s eyes and couldn’t find anything to fear.

He turned around abruptly. “Dr. Curtis can talk to you about that.”

“Edward.” Dr. Curtis rarely raised her voice, because she never had to. Her tone was enough to command respect, and Ed turned back without thinking. “The colonel is here to discuss your work. I expect you to at least act respectful.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said automatically, fighting his instinct to flee at the idea that the military had an interest in him. She gave him a harsh look before moving along and leaving Ed alone with the colonel.

“You certainly have a way with people,” he said, deep voice somehow not booming, as it did before, and smirking, like Ed was an old friend sharing a joke.

“I don’t like people.” Ed glared at Colonel Mustang. “They’re universally awful.”

Roy shrugged. “I suppose I can see your point. Your accent, it’s German, correct?”

Ed felt his shoulders stiffen against the back of his chair. “Yeah, and?”

“Did you immigrate from there?” His voice was neutral, like they were catching up over coffee, but Ed knew those types of questions were anything but friendly.

“Long time ago.” Ed glared. “Was in Switzerland before that.”

Roy nodded. “I understand that your work is the field of nuclear physics, with some work in biochemistry?”

Ed eyed him, looking head to toe for a sign of deception, or mockery. “Yeah.”

“Tell me about it?” His smile was easy, charming, and Ed felt himself draw further back, shoulders rising closer to his ears.

“Why?”

The bastard’s smile didn’t falter for a second. “I’d like to understand it better. The government is recruiting for a project, and we’re looking for the best and the brightest.”

The constant buzz in Ed’s head that made him double check over his shoulder before opening his apartment resolved into a low whine that blotted out the other noise in the room. He could nearly feel the buzzing behind his eyes, sinking down until he only had a pinpoint of focus, bleeding down his back and throat till breathing felt like a struggle.

For the government, for _anyone_ to take an undue interest in him was dangerous. He focused on the Colonel’s face, and the concern there was dangerous.

“I’m sorry, Ed, are you ok?” His voice was low, and gentle, so no one else could hear, and Ed _hated_ him through the panic for being so considerate. People didn’t get to be nice, and gorgeous, and kind; they were hiding something, or they wanted something, and Ed felt himself jerk back, smacking the table and rattling his desk worryingly. The bruise was muffled under the strain of keeping himself from leaping and running out the door.

Roy reached out a hand to steady him, but stopped before he actually touched Ed, watching his flinch, holding his open palm about three inches from his shoulder, “Edward, can you hear me?”

The note of command in his voice didn’t do Ed any favors, and his shoulders felt like they were attached to the ceiling with strings. His legs felt tense and hot, shaking from the adrenaline that didn’t have anywhere else to go, and suddenly Dr. Curtis was in his field of vision, eclipsing the military blue and looking him in the eye.

“Edward, do you want to come with me?” Her voice was firm. “There’s an empty classroom two doors down. You can go cool off.” She didn’t glance up, but Ed knew her speech was for the rest of the people in the room. “You look warm, perhaps from standing so long on your leg this morning.”

Nearly everyone in the lab knew he had a prosthetic leg, but only Curtis knew why, how close of a call it had been, escaping Germany, why he had been holed up in a Swiss hospital for months before finally completing his trip to the States. She knew why he hated the military, and he was grateful.

He nearly said yes, panic freezing his muscles, imagining the government looking at his work when he thought he was hidden, but then he thought of Al, and their small apartment, and their promise to each other that they would find their mother and return home. He remembered the way they had whispered, in the dark beds in the hospital, that they would find mom, whatever it took, and bring her to America. How Ed had laid awake that night, staring at the ceiling and planning furiously, lockjaw stubborn refusal to even entertain the notion that they might fail, pain where his leg used to be intense enough to make him cry if he gave in, and adamantly refusing to in the same hitched breath.

Suddenly facing a man in a blue suit didn’t seem so bad.

He shook his head, looking Izumi in the eyes, and taking a deep breath. “No, thanks. I just needed a breather.”

She nodded, one short, sharp nod, and stepped away, leaving the horrendously attractive face of the military staring at him, mildly surprised, like he was reading a newspaper article a few days too late.

“Prosthetic leg,” Ed barked, before the colonel could say anything, feeling remarkably like a wounded dog. “If I stand too long I have a bad reaction.” He shrugged.

It wasn’t clear if Mustang bought it or not, but the rapid return to business helped either way. “I apologize. What a terrible injury for someone so young.” When Ed just glared in return, Mustang continued, “But, to business. A special branch of civilian scientists, recruited by various members of the military and government, are being gathered to pool their research. Only the best scientists in the country are being considered, and your name came up, Mr. Elric.”

It was incredibly difficult to preen and be suspicious at the same time: leaning back, glancing away, and lifting his chin put a strain on his neck that Ed wasn’t used to, but he’d be damned if he let it show. His brother called him stubborn for the sake of being stubborn, but Ed rationalized that he needed to hold onto his pride as a gay German immigrant.

“Yeah, so? Lots of people want my research.” He stared at Mustang, “What makes you guys special?”

"It’s a chance to help stop the war, to bring our soldiers home.” His voice was neutral, but his eyes were staring into Ed’s, like he could read his mind if he looked hard enough.

That particular response was loaded, and Ed’s head ran circles for a moment.  “I wanna stop the war as much as anyone, but I’m not even a natural citizen. Why me?”

“Scientific prowess doesn’t know borders, Edward. You’re good enough to be chosen, and you’ve chosen to be here, leaving Germany behind. I believe they’ve decided that that counts for something.”

Ed glared, enough to stop your usual grown man in his tracks, but not today. “I’m not interested in making weapons.”

“The project itself is classified, but I believe the military and their contractors are more than adequate at coming up with weapons all on their own.” There was a flash on his face as he said it, but Ed was never very good at facial expressions, even less so in a country where everything seemed to be skewed just an inch to the left.

“No.” He crossed his arms.

The fucking bastard didn’t even look rattled, “This team has the chance to stop the war, to keep more people from dying. If it does end the war, everyone on it will go down in history as heroes of the first order. What more could you ask for?”

If the speech was meant to get him misty eyed and patriotic, Mustang didn’t stand a  chance. “I’m not doing it. I don’t want to work for the military.”

“Not even to help end the killing?” His voice was quieter than it had been before, somehow more honest, and Ed had never heard an American refer to warfare as anything less than heroic. Killing each other was what it amounted to, but to hear it from a decorated colonel was not something Ed had expected to encounter. He knew, logically, that this was probably just an act, but something inside him resonated deeply with the idea that war wasn’t as noble as people who had never experienced it seemed to believe.

“People always kill each other; nothing is ever going to stop it.” Surprised didn’t mean trusting, and Ed had perfected the off-putting exterior.

Mustang shrugged, and it should have looked awkward in his high-necked collar, but somehow he made it look effortless. Ed just glared. “Perhaps not. Maybe people will fight forever, but letting people die now, forcing people who could have been home with their families to stay out there getting shot and bleeding out, just to satisfy your nihilistic sensibilities is the height of selfishness. Everyone does their part, and if you and your research have more to contribute to saving people’s lives, then perhaps you should consider that the world is bigger than just yourself.”

“It’s not selfish to want to provide for the family I have left,” he snapped, feeling the rebuke in that part of him that had responded earlier.

“If you’re worried about money, the military has more than enough options for pay. You’ll be able to negotiate your own salary, with your skillset.”

Ed’s eyes narrowed, staring at Mustang. The entire situation seemed too good to be true, but he was terrible at telling when people were lying on his best day. Still feeling the remnants of the adrenaline and steeling himself against bolting was not doing him any favors.

“Are you going to be on the project?” The question had a life of its own, and came out before Ed even realized what he had said.

Mustang shook his head. “I’m not a scientist; I merely recruit.”

“Good.” Still glaring at him, “I’ll think about it. How long do I have?”

Mustang spread his hands, mildly placating and helplessly vague. “Until I leave the campus today.”

“Fine. You’ll have your answer by then.” He bit it out, turning abruptly to face his bench again, and ruminating furiously while scratching out some vague mathematical symbols with all the concentration he gave tying his shoes.

There was a pause, and he heard Mustang’s shoes turn and leave, military precise steps and turns around the chairs and out the door.

The storm in Ed’s head refused to calm down. It was his own voice telling him to fucking run, to get Al and go as far away as he could, as fast as he could. It was his voice saying that the military couldn’t be trusted, that the government would turn on them faster than they could put up defenses, and that he didn’t want to be part of this, whatever it was. It was the logical side of his head cataloguing the things he saw, and the things he’d heard about, and giving them blue uniforms and American accents instead of the brown he saw in his nightmares, and he pictured the fences going up in his little corner of California, and the people he knew disappearing, one by one.

He would have run, if there had been anywhere else in the world to run to. America was supposed to be safe; that was the entire reason why their mother had risked everything to get them there, why she had to stay behind and cover for them as they escaped, and her begging was the reason Ed had agreed to leave.

America was supposed to be safe, but nowhere was safe from the war.

His mother had given up everything, his brother had given up his religion, and Ed had given up a leg to be here.

And now the military was coming for them again.

He put his head down on his table, just for a minute.

He thought about his mom, brave enough to get them here, to work through back channels and the black market to get them tickets and visas, and he thought about his brother, who fed the stray cats even though they couldn’t afford it, because that’s what mom would have done. He thought about their small apartment, and the shitty furniture and the threadbare coats and blankets that were all that was left after the rationing, and he thought about what his mother would have done.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was nearly sunset when Ed limped up to the Colonel and his team. His face was set, harsh lines around his mouth and eyes, serious and determined.

“I’ve thought about your offer.” Ed stopped just outside arms reach.

“Oh?” Mustang looked unruffled and composed, and Ed hated him more every minute.

He took a deep breath, thoughts swirling around his mother, and Roy’s earnest voice when he described war as just killing, and thinking about the nature of selfishness and what this decision made him in the long run. “I want to accept your offer. Tell me where to sign up.”

Mustang smiled, “You’ve already signed up.” He stuck out his hand, and this time, Ed shook. “Welcome to the Manhattan Project.”


End file.
